


Magical Girl

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [145]
Category: Firefly, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Merlin/Firefly, Arthur/River, burn the witch."Arthur rescues a sick girl from some scared villagers while out on patrol.





	

Arthur is exhausted. His limbs feel as though they are made of lead, and the fact that he’s been wearing his armor for days and days isn’t helping. So when he sees smoke rising from the trees, he knows it’s a camp or a village or somewhere he can get real food and perhaps some actual rest. Father is determined to find Morgana, but Arthur is not sure she can be found, if she does not want to be, and Arthur knows she does not want to be. Arthur is a knight, Arthur is a prince, a future king, and he has specific duties and priorities, but he is not blind. He knows magic when he sees it. He knows Morgana has magic. He knows Merlin has magic, and as much as the distrust hurts, he knows why Merlin does not tell him. Merlin is kind. Merlin does not want him to have to choose.  
  
When he rides into the clearing, it is not a campfire or a chimney from whence the smoke rises, but a pyre. And there is a girl. She is not screaming. She is staring straight ahead, and tears run down her face.  
  
Arthur is dismounted from Hengroen and charging toward the fire before he knows what he’s doing.  
  
The villagers surround the pyre make some move to stop him, but they are peasants, and he is a knight.  
  
“No, sir,” an elderly man says, “we must burn the witch!”  
  
Arthur casts a look about, but there is no time to draw water from the well, and there are no villagers who will help him.  
  
The flames are not yet high enough to burn her, but they may be enough to burn him. He prays Tom’s armor will hold, and he charges through the flames, swings his sword through the girl’s bonds, and tugs her free.  
  
The peasants are angry, are nervous, are afraid.  
  
The girl is dazed, face smeared with smoke, but she does not seem to notice Arthur. She is not a witch, he thinks, she is just mad, or locked away in her own mind. But she is not possessed of magic.  
  
“Sir,” a matronly woman protests, “she is a witch. We must burn her.”  
  
“Who tried her?” Arthur demands.  
  
“The village elders,” the woman says.  
  
“Not good enough,” Arthur snaps. “All sorcerers are to be taken before the king. It is the law of Camelot.”  
  
“But sir -”  
  
“I will take her to Camelot,” Arthur says, “and I will see that the laws of the kingdom are obeyed.” He injects enough of his father into his tone that the villagers bow their heads, back away, but he can feel their resentment prickling down his spine as he leads the girl to his horse. He binds her wrists perfunctorily, hoists her onto his horse, and climbs on after her.  
  
Hengroen sets off obediently, not needing a word, just a nudge of Arthur’s heel, and then they are plodding through the trees.   
  
Smoke lingers in the girl’s hair.  
  
“My lady,” Arthur says in a low, gentle voice, because while he can guess at her station, too much respect is safer than disrespect, “are you much harmed? I can take you to the royal physician, I -”  
  
“I’m not a witch,” she whispers. “Not a witch, not a witch.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
She twists around to look at him. Her eyes are wide and crazed - and afraid. “You saved me! You’re a big damn hero, like Mal and Zoe and Jayne. And Wash and Kaylee and Inara, too.”  
  
Arthur has never heard such names. “I am no hero, my lady. I am a knight of Camelot, and -”  
  
“Camelot, Camelot, Camelot!” she chants, then adds, an aside to someone who is not there, “It’s only a model.”  
  
And she begins to sing, a nonsense song, “ _We’re knights of the round table, we dance whenever we’re able, we do routines and chorus scenes with footwork impeccable…_ ”  
  
She is definitely mad, but her voice is pleasant, and what she needs is a doctor, not a fire.  
  
And then there is a sound overhead, one Arthur has never encountered before, but it could be a flying monster, not unlike a dragon, and he draws his sword once more.  
  
The creature above him gleams like dull metal, but its wings burn, and it roars.  
  
When it begins to descend, Arthur scans the forest, spurs Hengroen toward a clearing so he can dismount, have better combat mobility.  
  
When the beast speaks, it sounds like a man. “River? Is that you?”

And the girl raises her arms above her head and waves, her expression one of pure joy. “I’m here! He saved me!”  
  
“Zoe’s coming for you, River.”  
  
River throws her head back and laughs, delighted.  
  
Arthur can only stare as the belly of the beast opens and a woman descends, clinging to a black rope.  
  
“Zoe!” River laughs. She shucks the ropes around her wrists and twists around in the saddle. When she meets Arthur’s gaze, she is startlingly lucid. “Thank you, Arthur Pendragon, once and future king. I’ll never forget this, and history will never forget you.”  
  
And then she kisses him.  
  
For one moment, Arthur is lost. He is a boy. He is a man. He is a soldier, a prince, a king. He is fighting. He is resting. He is running. He is magic and he is armor and he is -  
  
Found.  
  
He is found.  
  
“Goodbye, Arthur,” River whispers, and then she reaches for Zoe, who slings an arm around her waist, and they are hoisted upward, into the belly of the beast.  
  
Arthur gazes into the sky long after the beast is gone and thinks maybe the girl was magic after all.


End file.
